"To what annoyances, and perhaps affronts, have I exposed her!" said he.
"No, it is a man's business to defend, not to be defended."
To conclude: At high tide one fine afternoon he went on board with Ponto, and, hoisting his foresail only, crossed the bay, ranging along the island till he reached the bluff. He got under this, and, by means of his compass and previous observations, set the boat's head exactly on the line the ducks used to take. Then he set his mainsail too, and stretched boldly out across the great Pacific Ocean.
Time seems to wear out everything, even bad luck. It ran strong against Robert Penfold for years. But, when it had struck its worst blow, and parted him and Helen Rolleston, it relaxed, and a tide of good luck set in, which, unfortunately, the broken-hearted man could not appreciate at the time. However, so it was. He wanted oil; and a whale came ashore. He wanted treasure, and the sea gave him a little back of all it had swallowed; and now he wanted fine weather; and the ocean for days and nights was like peach-colored glass, dimpled here and there; and soft westerly airs fanned him along by night and day.
To be sure, he was on the true Pacific Ocean, at a period when it is really free from storms. Still, even for that latitude, he had wonderful weather for six days; and on the seventh he fell in with a schooner, the skipper and crew of which looked over the bulwarks at him with wonder and cordiality, and, casting out a rope astern, took him in tow.
The skipper had been eying him with amazement for some hours through his telescope; but he was a man that had seen a great many strange things, and it was also a point of honor with him never to allow that he was astonished, or taken by surprise, or greatly moved.
"Wal, stranger," said he, "what craft is that?"
"The _Helen."_
"Where d'ye hail from? not that I am curious."
"From an unknown island."
"Do tell. What, another! Is it anyways nigh?"
"Not within seven hundred miles."
"Je--rusalem! Have you sailed all that in a cockle-shell?"
"Yes."
"Why, what are ye? the Wandering Jew afloat, or the Ancient Mariner? or only a kinder nautilus?"
"I'm a landsman."
"A landsman! then so is Neptune. What is your name when you are ashore?"
"Robert Penfold. The Reverend Robert Penfold."
"The Reverend-- Je--rusalem!"
"May I ask what is your name, sir?"
"Wal, I reckon you may, stranger. I'm Joshua Fullalove from the States, at present located on the island of Juan Fernandez!"
"Joshua Fullalove! That is lucky. I've got something that belongs to you."
He looked about and found the harpoon, and handed it up in a mighty straightforward, ****** way.
Joshua stared at him incredulously at first, but afterward with amazement. He handled the harpoon, and inquired where Robert had fallen in with it. Robert told him.
"You're an honest man," said Fullalove," you air. Come aboard." He was then pleased to congratulate himself on his strange luck in having drifted across an honest man in the middle of the ocean. "I've heerd," said he, "of an old chap as groped about all his life with a lantern, and couldn't find one. Let's liquor."
He had some celestial mixture or other made, including rum, mint, and snow from the Andes, and then began his interrogatories, again disclaiming curiosity at set intervals.
"Whither bound, honest man?"
"The coast of Chili."
"What for?"
"Trade."
"D'ye buy or sell? Not that it is my business."
"I wish to sell."
"What's the merchandise?"
"Knowledge, and treasure."
Fullalove scratched his head. "Hain't ye got a few conundrums to swap for gold dust as well?"
Robert smiled faintly. The first time this six weeks.
"I have to sell the knowledge of an island with rich products; and I have to sell the contents of a Spanish treasure-ship that I found buried in the sand of that island."
The Yankee's eyes glistened.
"Wal," said he, "I do business in islands myself. I've leased this Juan Fernandez. But one of them is enough at a time. I'm monarch of all I survey. But then what I survey is a mixallaneous bilin' of Irish and Otaheitans, that it's pizen to be monarch of. And now them darned Irish has taken to converting the heathens to superstition and the worship of images, and breaks their heads if they won't. And the heathens are all smiles and sweetness and immorality. No, islands is no bait to me."
"I never asked you," said Robert. "What I do ask you is to land me at Valparaiso. There I'll find a purchaser, and will pay you handsomely for your kindness."
"That is fair," said Fullalove, dryly. "What will you pay me?"
"I'll show you," said Robert. He took out of his, pocket the smaller conglomeration of Spanish coin, and put it into Fullalove's hand. "That," said he, "is silver coin I dug out of the galleon."
Fullalove inspected it keenly, and trembled slightly. Robert then went lightly over the taffrail, and slid down the low rope into his boat. He held up the black mass we have described.
"This is solid silver. I will give it you, and my best thanks, to land me at Valparaiso."
"Heave it aboard," said the Yankee.
Robert steadied himself and hove it on board. The Yankee caught it, heavy as it was, and subjected it to some chemical test directly.
"Wal," said he, "that is a bargain. I'll land ye at Valparaiso for this.
Jack, lay her head S.S.E. and by E."
